


and melt like solid gold

by Eris (dwarrowkings)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Clothed Sex, Come Eating, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), M/M, Off-Screen Kink Negotiation, Other, Vaginal Sex, almost food porn, joking talk of punishing crowley but it's not like that i swear, well he makes the effort to have one halfway through
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:27:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22357210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dwarrowkings/pseuds/Eris
Summary: My friend asked for Crowley wearing a cock ring a billion years ago, and then this kind of.... grew legs. Featuring too many pet names because I'm awful.Just some porn where Aziraphale puts a cock ring on Crowley, makes some tea, drinks some tea, eats a sandwich, and rides Crowley to kingdom (and Aziraphale) come.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 140





	and melt like solid gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dazebras](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dazebras/gifts).



> All errors are my own, because I'm posting this quick. It's for Dazebra's birthday, because she asked for it and she's great.

“Want to play?” Aziraphale asks. The low and sultry tone of his voice has heat pooling in Crowley’s stomach before he can consciously answer. He takes a deep breath, nods. 

Aziraphale leads him to the kitchen and sits him down in a chair. “I have a present for you,” Aziraphale says leaning into Crowley’s space from where he’s leaning on the table. He strokes Crowley’s hair gently away from his face and tucks it behind Crowley’s ear. The tenderness of the motion is in direct contrast to the smug look on his face. 

“Is this present for me, angel, or is it really for you?” Aziraphale’s face darkened into a distinctly un-angelic smirk, which set off a spate of fireworks in Crowley’s belly. 

“It’s for both of us.” Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s chin gently and tilted his face up to look Aziraphale in the eye. “If you don’t want it…” he trails off, teasing but giving Crowley an out at the same time. 

“Let’s see it, then.” Crowley shifts in the chair and Aziraphale puts his hand on Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley doesn’t get up. Aziraphale runs off behind him - to the bedroom it sounds like - and comes back with a smallish unwrapped box. He pulls the flaps open. Inside is a black silicone ring and lube. Crowley can feel the flush on his cheeks as he looks up at Aziraphale’s face. 

Some sort of desperation must show there, because Aziraphale’s face softens and he leans forward to kiss Crowley. Somehow, the box is already out of Aziraphale’s hands. “We don’t have to, love.” But before Aziraphale can continue, Crowley cuts him off. 

“No, I want to, I just… I don’t…” Crowley grasps for words to explain what he doesn’t, but only comes up with “I didn’t make an effort today.” He hooks his fingers over the underside of the wooden chair. 

Aziraphale’s face lights up and he chuckles a champagne laugh - just as bright, bubbly, and intoxicating as the real thing. “Do you want to, my dear?” 

“Yes, of course, angel.” He agrees immediately. “How do you want me?” 

“A cock, if you please. Middling in length, but nicely wide.” His voice dips several octaves. “I want to really feel it when you fuck me, Crowley.” The world slows down and Crowley can feel his stomach twist and heat like someone turned on the tap. Crowley pauses for a minute to think. Then Aziraphale adds “Soft, please. Want to get you hard for me.” Crowley’s grip goes white-knuckled, trying to hold himself in place.

Aziraphale is looking down at him through half lidded eyes, color high on his cheeks. It distracts Crowley enough that he almost forgets until Aziraphale touches his shoulder. He squeezes a reassurance and then trails his fingers down Crowley’s chest. His fingers catch on the neck of his shirt, dragging it down. Aziraphale follows the movement with his eyes, looking for all the world as if he wants to follow it with his mouth. 

The shirt drags out from under his fingertips and he continues trailing his hand down. He stops at Crowley’s belt, tapping it three times with his index finger. There is a thoughtful look on his face but he curls his fingers under the waistband of Crowley’s pants over his belt buckle. He can feel the impatient press of Aziraphale’s knuckles to his lower belly. Crowley scoots down, widening his knees invitingly at Aziraphale. 

“Have you made the effort yet, darling?” Crowley hasn’t. Aziraphale has kept him thoroughly distracted. He forgot Aziraphale had asked until he mentioned it again.His fingers are still hooked in Crowley’s belt, another distracting pull. Aziraphale lifts one finger to stroke his knuckle over the tender skin of Crowley’s stomach. Crowley shakes his head. “Mmmm.” Aziraphale looks thoughtful. “Hold off for a second, then?” Crowley nods. 

Aziraphale steps in, between Crowley’s knees and presses a kiss to his temple. Crowley can feel himself shudder out a breath of relief. Aziraphale strokes his hand over Crowley’s hair, hooking his hand behind Crowley’s head, turning it up with his thumb under Crowley’s jaw. Aziraphale kisses down his hairline and then across his jaw. Hot, wet breath tickles his skin, making him shiver. 

Crowley turns his face to bask in this gentle affection, pressing his face against Aziraphale’s mouth even when he moves to pull away, anything to lengthen the contact. “Angel,” he murmurs when Aziraphale presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Aziraphale presses a chaste kiss there, tasting the word on his lips. He presses in again, open mouthed and searching as if just a taste wasn't enough. 

“Crowley.” It’s a whisper against his mouth and Crowley tips forward desperately, tasting the sweet desperation of Crowley’s name on his lips. When Aziraphale pulls away, he tugs Crowley’s pants away from his stomach a little. “Take off your pants for me.” 

Crowley is undoing his belt the second the words leave Aziraphale’s lips, his fingers stiff from having held onto the chair so hard. He fumbles and Aziraphale just watches him do it. Watches his fingers with hungry, over-bright eyes. He undoes the buttons of his pants and lets it hang for a second. Aziraphale smiles encouragingly. Crowley lifts his hips, braces his back against the back of the chair, and slides his pants down over his hips. 

It’s as they peel down his thighs that he realizes that he hasn’t taken off his shoes. Crowley leans forward to kick them off but Aziraphale catches him by the shoulder. “Leave them on.” 

Aziraphale’s hand follows the same trail as before, tugging his shirt down, but this time he does follow it with his mouth, starting at the underside of Crowley’s jaw and kissing down his neck, across his collar bone. He presses a wet kiss to the exposed skin above his fingertips, looking up at Crowley. His mouth is red and wet from kissing, curved into a smile. He looks down, nuzzles his face into Crowley’s chest, and lets go of the neck of Crowley’s shirt. He skips the rest of Crowley’s chest and stomach in favor of cupping his hand over the flat skin of Crowley’s crotch. 

It feels good in the way that Aziraphale’s touch always feels good, but Crowley can guess that it isn’t what either of them want right now. 

“Aziraphale.” Crowley says, his voice hoarse, almost begging. Aziraphale hums against his chest and slides further down to kneel between Crowley’s knees. He presses both hands over Crowley’s narrow hips, his fingers hooking around the back, and pushes Crowley’s shirt up. Crowley takes the initiative to shrug out of it along with his jacket. Aziraphale hums, pleased, and grips Crowley’s hips tighter, tilting them forward to meet his mouth. He presses dirty, wet kisses under Crowley’s belly button.

“Now, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice is firm and Crowley is helpless to the pull of it. “Soft, remember.” Crowley closes his eyes desperately, reaches inside himself, and tugs. Aziraphale makes a soft, pleased sound and rubs his soft throat against the new skin of Crowley’s cock, the head catching him under the jaw. “Oh, Crowley. It’s perfect.” 

“Thanks Angel. “I grew it myself.” Crowley’s mouth says all on its own. Aziraphale chuckles and rubs his cheek across the skin covering the head. He slides his fingers around the shaft and teases a short stroke, eyes alight and pleased. 

“Hand me the box, will you?” Crowley looks desperately around for where it went. Spotting it on the table, he leans forward to grab it. Aziraphale uses this as an opportunity to sink his mouth around Crowley’s dick. Crowley jerks and almost knocks the box off the table instead of grabbing it.

“Unfair.” Crowley whines, dropping the box on his thigh next to Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale hums and pulls away. Crowley is half hard now but only by sheer force of will. 

Aziraphale reaches in the box, grabs the contents, and chucks the box over his shoulder. He presses a kiss into Crowley’s thigh, and Crowley reaches down to pet at Aziraphale’s hair. Aziraphale smiles up at him, mouth slick and obscene, matching the sound of him swiping lube around the inside of the ring. 

“Are you ready, my darling?” Aziraphale asks. His eyes are sharp, waiting for any sign of discomfort or hesitation. Crowley has none to show. 

“Yes.” He sucks in a breath he knows he doesn’t need, hoping that it will steady him somewhat as Aziraphale presses another kiss to his thigh. Aziraphale’s hand, slightly tacky with lube, grabs onto Crowley’s wrist and pulls it toward his dick. 

“Hold yourself for me.” Aziraphale places Crowley’s hand on his groin and Crowley pushes his cock away from his pelvis with his thumb. “Perfect.” Aziraphale says. Crowley can feel it pull at his shoulders, wanting to slump into the word and never leave, but it’s too soon. He licks at his lips and watches as Aziraphale slides the black ring down around his cock. 

“How’s that?” Aziraphale asks. “Any discomfort?” Crowley takes another few breaths and takes stock. It feels weird, but not in a bad way. Just different to anything he’s felt before. It could be good, if he let it. 

“No,” Crowley answers. 

“Good boy,” Aziraphale says, and sucks Crowley’s cock back into his mouth. Crowley groans; it feels like all the blood in his body is pooling in his groin and sticks there. There’s none left for his brain, lightheaded and sweet. 

Once Crowley is fully hard, throbbing through the ring and almost desperate, Aziraphale pulls away. “Wha?” He slurs, confused. Aziraphale pets his head. 

“Stay right there, love.” Aziraphale says. It’s either Crowley’s ears, or Aziraphale sounds more fond than he ever has. It makes his gut twist when Aziraphale turns away. 

He only goes to the fridge, and retrieves a plate. Then he goes to the kettle and sets it to boil. He readies the rest of his tea-faffery, setting the mug on the saucer just so, and the spoon beside it. Crowley can feel his face, red and hot, the same as his cock. 

While the kettle boils, Aziraphale comes back over, to press a kiss to Crowley’s flushed cheek, and then he flits away again, pulling a tin of biscuits out of the cabinet, and putting some on the saucer. 

It’s gonna be like that, Crowley realizes. Oh. 

The kettle clicks off and Aziraphale pours the boiling water over his cup, humming to himself. He takes the plate to the table and puts it in front of Crowley. Aziraphale adjusts the chair. Crowley lets him do it, frozen not by Aziraphale’s desire, but by his own. 

Aziraphale makes a show of stirring in the sugar, and then transports the saucer over to the table. He hums a little, while he undoes his pants. He kicks off his shoes - a little careless gesture that indicates that Aziraphale isn’t as carefree as he’s trying to seem. He still makes a show of folding his pants and putting them on the seat of the other chair at the table. 

Then Aziraphale sits in Crowley’s lap. Crowley adjusts to hold his weight, which presses his cock against the crack of Aziraphale’s ass. Aziraphale hums and pushes back into it. Crowley reaches forward for Aziraphale’s hip to steady him and gets a hnnn of approval. 

Aziraphale is so wet that his slick drips down his thighs and coats Crowley’s. It’s so hot that Crowley moans and pushes forward, almost unseating Aziraphale. 

“Now, my dear, I have lunch all laid out. Be a shame to let it go to waste.” Crowley groans and stills. “Good boy.” Aziraphale shifts slightly and Crowley thinks he takes a bite of the sandwich from the plate. 

Aziraphale moans. Crowley forces himself to not react to it, but it’s a damn miracle. Aziraphale makes a show of chewing and swallowing, placing his sandwich down gently back on the plate, and then picking up the tea saucer. He pushes his hips back, and Crowley ruts forward. Aziraphale’s whole body jerks and tea sloshes out on the table. 

“Now Crowley, every crumb or puddle on the table left on the table when I finish with you, you will clean up.” Crowley groans but doesn’t push forward again into Aziraphale’s shameless grinding. 

Crowley can feel the wetness spread on the top of his thighs. “Fuck, angel. At least tell me I can touch you.” 

“Of course you can, love.” Crowley’s fingers dig into Aziraphale’s hips for a moment, before he pushes his hands up the front of Aziraphale’s shirt - scoring his fingernails slightly up and feeling Aziraphale shiver. The cup tips as it’s set back in the saucer and it tips over. Aziraphale tuts, but groans. He miracles another cup of tea and pushes up into Crowley’s hands.

Crowley pushes his sweaty forehead into Aziraphale’s shirt and breathes in the indescribable scent of Aziraphale. Butter cookies and tea and sunshine. 

Aziraphale picks up the sandwich again. Crowley ruts forward into him and Aziraphale hums his disapproval. “That’s more crumbs, darling.” 

“Worth it,” Crowley pants. “This is torture.” Crowley gropes his hand downward, pushing his hands between Aziraphale’s thighs and slicking his fingers against Aziraphale’s clit. Aziraphale jerks, even though he must have seen it coming, and drops the sandwich on the table. 

“Oh, alright,” Aziraphale says. He puts the sandwich down on the table and lifts up a little. 

He slides down on Crowley’s cock, slick and hot and perfect. 

“Angel.” It’s a plea, a blessing, a strained curse. Aziraphale flexes his thighs to lift up off Crowley’s lap for a despairing second and then sinks back down on Crowley’s straining cock. He makes the same sound he made when he took the first bite of the sandwich. 

“Crowley, yes.” Aziraphale says, even though Crowley hasn’t done anything. Crowley remembers that he should be moving his hands. He pushes the back of Aziraphale’s shirt up and presses kisses up his spine, as high as he can reach. He mirrors his movement from earlier, pushing his fingertips against Aziraphale’s clit, pushing it between the pads of his fingers. 

Aziraphale groans, pushes forward into Crowley’s hand. He jerks forward so fast that Crowley can feel his cock slide in and out of Aziraphale’s cunt, jerking Aziraphale off and stroking his own cock at the same time in a dirty, wet slide. 

“Oh fuck, Aziraphale.” Crowley groans, pushing his hips up, bound by his pants still around his shins.

“Yes, exactly.” Aziraphale replies, out of breath and glorious. He grinds his hips down, rutting against Crowley’s hand and his cock in dirty back and forth slides. Crowley can feel it building in the tops of his thighs and deep in his stomach but it isn’t enough.

It’s enough for Aziraphale, who clenches around Crowley’s cock as he comes, sudden and inescapable, and pushing into and away from his hand all at once. Crowley imagines the flush on his face, pink and perfect. He pulls his hand away from where they’re joined together, but before he can do anything about the wetness there, Aziraphale tugs his hand up. It pulls Crowley closer to his back, shifting in that glorious heat, and Aziraphale moans and clenches around him again. 

Aziraphale licks at the pad of Crowley’s thumb first and Crowley’s thighs quiver. Crowley almost questions it, but doesn’t quite get the chance before Aziraphale is sliding Crowley’s ring and middle finger in his mouth. His tongue chases the taste of himself on Crowley’s skin and Crowley chases after, not knowing what the end is going to be. Aziraphale sucks Crowley’s fingers into his mouth as far as they go and bites down around the knuckles. 

The world pulls like saltwater taffy - slow and sweet, breaking in the middle as he comes. Aziraphale moans, grinding his hips against Crowley’s lap for a second, before he lets Crowley’s hand drop. It hits his thigh with a wet plop. Crowley’s brain contemplates wiping his hand on Aziraphale’s shirttails, but it takes too much energy to move his hand, so he doesn’t. 

“That was wonderful, dear,” Aziraphale says. Crowley hums in response. He can feel how slowly his cock is softening in the ring, slipping out of Aziraphale with an obscene squelching noise. Crowley presses a kiss to Aziraphale's back, scrabbling his wet nails against Aziraphale’s thigh just to get closer. Aziraphale hums in response, pushing back into his face a little, and looking over his shoulder. 

“You look so gorgeous like this, Crowley.” Aziraphale says. Crowley makes a vague noise of disagreement, but lets it slide, brain too empty to think much of anything besides how nice it is to have Aziraphale in his lap and how close they are. 

Aziraphale hums after a minute and Crowley’s slowly catching up on external clues. Aziraphale wants to get up, so Crowley shifts to make it easier. “Thanks, dear.” Aziraphale turns to press a kiss to Crowley’s forehead, which Crowley absolutely does not preen into. 

“Any time, angel.” Aziraphale looks like an angel right now, with his shirt tails hanging over his thighs, sweet and dirty, and - good go-sata-whatever, Crowley’s come sliding down the inside of his thigh. “Aziraphale.” Crowley almost chokes. 

“What is it?” he follows Crowley’s line of sight. He rolls his feet to the side, spreading his knees a little wider. Crowley swears he could get hard again in a second. Aziraphale slides his hand up the inside of his thigh, a small delighted noise escaping his throat as he swipes Crowley’s come off his thigh. 

He brings it to his mouth and Crowley makes a noise of desperation that makes Aziraphale pause. He looks from his hand to Crowley and then back to his hand. He makes a helpless little gesture, then offers his come covered fingers to Crowley. Crowley leans forward as much as he can without falling out of the chair.

Aziraphale cups the back of his head with his other hand as Crowley sucks his come off Aziraphale’s fingers. He winds his hands around the back of Aziraphale’s thighs and clings. When all the come is gone he pulls away. “If someone hadn’t left a whole meal and milky tea on the table, I could be eating you out for lunch right about now.” 

Aziraphale waves his hand and the whole mess is gone. “My clever darling,” Crowley says, crowing Aziraphale up onto the table. 

“I suppose this will just have to do.” His tone is unconcerned and strangely cool compared to the look in his eyes as he looks down at Crowley. Crowley licks his way up Aziraphale’s thighs, an aperitif that slicks hot in Crowley’s blood. 

“Do for what?” Crowley asks. He presses a kiss just under the last button of Aziraphale’s shirt. 

“Your punishment, of course.”

“Oh? What do I deserve to be punished for this time?” Turning punishment into a game that Crowley can win - Aziraphale thinks he’s helping and Crowley lets him. 

“You spilt my tea.” Aziraphale says. Crowley slips his fingers along behind Aziraphale’s buttocks, spreading them open. Aziraphale gasps and then “And interrupted my lunch.” This has much less bite as he goes on. Crowley doesn’t care if he’s truly less mad about the sandwich than the tea, he is more concerned with the soft gape of Aziraphale’s cunt under his hands. 

“Is that right?” Crowley asks, his breath hot and teasing on Aziraphale’s thighs. He waits until Aziraphale is about to speak and then presses the pad of his thumb into Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale's _yes_ is a breathy moan, but Crowley knows he means it. 

“Hmmm.” Crowley hums. “At least I deserve my punishment.” Crowley leans in further and slides his tongue in front of his thumb, a teasing stretch he won’t succumb to. 

“That's-” Aziraphale moans “That’s right.” Crowley slides the flat of his tongue up Aziraphale’s labia, savoring the slick, musky taste of their combined come. He slides his mouth to the side, sucking as he goes, until his bottom lip brushes over Aziraphale’s clit. He sucks on the hood, and revels in the fact that Aziraphale slides his fingers into Crowley’s hair and pulls without any concern for whether it hurts or not. 

He hums, lowering his mouth a little, to push his teeth against the sensitive bundle of nerves, and Aziraphale cries out. He pushes against Crowley’s mouth, just like he had his hand earlier, chasing and running away from the feeling at the same time. 

“Oh!” Aziraphale says, voice absolutely wrecked. His voice is like dark chocolate - smooth and dark, with a bite at the end. “Again.” He begs. Crowley obliges.


End file.
